Full Moon
by keepyourchinup
Summary: What if Bella used her break up to find herself, instead of wishing she was still half of a whole? What if Bella healed her own broken heart without waiting around for a boy to do it for her? Here's my take on post-break up Bella.
1. The Beginning, Not the End

**Bella's reaction to Edward breaking up with her has always frustrated me, and so I've decided to rewrite her story, starting from her last moments with him. I would really appreciate any feedback on this; thanks for reading!**

"Take care of yourself," he breathed, cool against my skin.

My world spun as nausea at his words, at his actions, at his decision that could not have been more _wrong_ hit me like a freight train. I barely registered the whisper of a breeze that signified his leaving.

His leaving.

_Leaving._

_Left._

No. No. I had to make him see reason. I had to make him understand.

"Edward! Wait!" I called out, but some far off part of my brain whispered what I already knew to be true. _It's too late._

I stumbled backwards, the pain in my chest suddenly unbearable. The back of my jacket came in contact with a tree and I slumped down against it. There was no point in chasing him. There was no point in going home either. I would just stay here.

I turned my face up towards the sky as the light rain morphed into fat droplets, most of them breaking against the branches of the trees above me. I could feel those that didn't as they splashed against my skin. I could feel the rough bark of the tree tangling my hair. I could feel the mud soaking through my jeans onto my legs.

And then quite suddenly, I couldn't feel much of anything at all.

OXO

Darkness had set in before I found myself walking towards the back door. I could see Charlie looking uncharacteristically panicked, the phone against his ear as he paced back and forth in front of the window over the sink. Jacob Black stood behind him, so I could assume Billy was inside as well, though I couldn't see him from this angle. Another man, clearly Quileute, ducked through the doorway behind Jacob, who shot him an uncomfortable look.

I had messed up. I should've been home hours ago. I should've come right back here after…_after._ I couldn't think about it; my heart throbbed painfully at even the vague reference. I closed my eyes and swallowed against the massive lump in my throat. And then I opened the back door.

The incredibly tall stranger's eyes snapped towards me and the gazes of the others followed. My mind ground out a dial tone as I took in the sight of him; he looked angry, but there was nothing but pain in his eyes. He was shirtless, too. His hair was the only damp part of him, the only indication that he had just come in from the rain as well.

They all looked at me, and I just looked back. I was supposed to have an explanation of some sort, or something. Wasn't I?

"Bella! Bella, honey, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Charlie's voice filtered slowly into my dull mental silence, and some far off part of me realized his voice was dripped with surprising concern. It was for me, I supposed. That was okay. It was all okay.

I was not okay.

A sob bubbled up in my chest, and I clamped my lips together as the inevitable question came out of my father's mouth.

"We were about to call the police! Where have you been?"

Standing there, soaked to the bone and shaking like a leaf, I knew I would need to say it. I was going to have to tell them what happened.

"Edward broke up with me." I choked out the words in the same breath as a sob, and it all seemed to get stuck in my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth.

And then reality caught up with me. I knew what they were thinking; he was a high school boyfriend. He had broken up with me, and I had gone missing for _hours_ because of it. I had caused worry to run rampant in my father, and probably the Blacks too. They had even called this stranger, whoever he was. And for that, I hated myself.

"I'm so sorry, we just—," I paused, trying to find the words that could explain why it felt like my chest was caving in on itself, why that 'high school boyfriend' had taken a part of me with him. But I knew I couldn't. I couldn't explain it, so my only option was to dismiss it.

"He wanted to go for a walk in the woods and we were talking, and—and I told him I could find my way back on my own but I guess I couldn't. I'm sorry." Tears were beginning to mingle with the rain drops on my face and suddenly I was aware of the way my skin was cold to the touch.

"Oh, Bella-," Charlie's voice cut off, and I knew he didn't have the words or the heart to scold me or to comfort me. So I let him off the hook.

"Is it okay if I go take a shower? I'm frozen." He nodded as he let out a tired sigh, and I carefully avoided the eyes of Jacob that were probably filled with pity and the eyes of Billy that were probably nothing but smug. It wasn't until I reached the narrow stairway that I recalled the stranger who was still standing in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused." I didn't wait for a response. I just let my feet find each stair and carry me away from their questions and towards my own grief.

OXO

I stared at my body in the harsh fluorescent light above the sink as the shower heated up. I settled my gaze on my own eyes, and I looked and looked for some small flicker of light there. But there was nothing. I looked until the steam from the running water behind me began to fog up the mirror, and finally I turned away and got in.

I stood under the spray for a moment before I settled myself on the floor of the shower. I was so, so tired. With my head leaned against the wall, I watched as the burning water turned my pale skin to a flushed pink.

And I grieved.

Sobs crashed over my lips as I curled up into a ball, shaking with the pain and the tears and the loss. He was gone. It was all gone. But I was still here.

For minutes or hours I stayed there, but I knew that I was going to need to get up eventually. When I had cried myself out and I was certain there was nothing left, I got up.

And I turned off the water.

I stepped out of the shower.

I wrapped a towel around myself, and another around my hair.

I got dressed in the sweats and t-shirt I had hung on the back of the door.

Shaking my hair free, I dragged a brush through it.

And then I headed to my room.

"Bella." I started at the sound of a voice calling my name, and for a moment I stared blankly at its source. Jacob. Right. Jacob was standing at the end of the hall.

His dark eyebrows were knit together and he looked at me like I was going to fall to pieces right in front of him, which was probably because I was.

"Jacob, please, I just really want to be alone right now." I could hear my own voice like it belonged to someone else, like the crack in it wasn't because it felt like there was a crack in my chest.

"Maybe I'm wrong here, but I don't think you do. You're just going to go in there and cry some more all alone, and that's no good. Just come downstairs. Our dads are watching the game. I made hot chocolate."

I found myself nodding mechanically, because he was right. I thought I wanted to grieve, but in reality what I wanted was to go back and change what was already done. And that wasn't possible. So I followed the boy I'd known my entire life down the stairs.

He wasn't lying. He really had made hot chocolate. He gave me space and sat across the table from me with his mug in hand, and he babbled away. I nodded and gave weak little smiles and let his voice carry me away from the one that had been playing on repeat in my head since it had said those words. I couldn't bear thinking of _him_, and so I did my best to listen to Jacob talk about whatever it was he was talking about and ignored Charlie's constant glances over the back of the couch in my direction. And when my eyes began to droop, he scooped up my mostly full mug without a word and I went up to bed.

Lying there in the dark, I felt hollow. The crying felt like it had worn a hole in my chest, the emotions carving out an abyss beneath my ribs. Or I guessed it wasn't the crying; I guessed it was the fact that my heart was, without a doubt, broken beyond repair. It didn't matter.

I didn't have any tears left, nor did I have the capacity to think of tomorrow, of what the consequences of today would be. So I thought of the look on Jacob's face instead, and how it was a look of pity.

And I thought of how I never wanted anyone to look at me that way ever again.

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! **


	2. Fade

I was already awake when the insistent beeping of my alarm began. I wandered the woods in my sleep, and when I woke up covered in a cold sheen of sweat the glowing red numbers on the clock showed 4:32 a.m.

Any hopes that I had cried myself out were dashed almost immediately. Foggy memories of the briefest kiss to my forehead before a blur of rain and tears and _pain_ crashed into my consciousness. It all seemed to be part of my nightmare, but this time, I couldn't wake up.

I pressed my face into my pillow as my body shook and the tears came in shivering, muffled sobs. And for a long time, I listened to the alarm go off. I couldn't go to school today. I couldn't.

Under normal circumstances, Charlie would've poked his head in to see if I was sick or oversleeping. But he had seen just a few flashes of emotion last night, and that was something he would steer clear off at all costs.

Finally, 20 minutes after the alarm had started to go off, I reached over and let my hand crash lazily into the button. I would give Charlie some excuse that he almost surely wouldn't question, and I would give myself the day. A day to pull myself together.

As if that's all I needed.

OXO

My foot pushed further towards the floor as the engine of my truck groaned. It had taken all of ten minutes of being alone in Charlie's house for me to realize I couldn't possibly stay there. I found myself on my way to nowhere in particular, trying not to think of Charlie's stumbling questions in the kitchen. In fact, I was trying not to think of anything at all.

I was failing miserably.

"_Hey…are you, uh, okay?"_

_I nodded vaguely in his direction. I was okay. I was okay. I was okay._

_I was the furthest thing from okay._

"_It'll be alright, kiddo," he'd said as I filled a glass with water. "I know you liked him, and all…"_

_A pathetic smile limped across my face at the thought. 'Liked' was the understatement of the century._

"_You know they moved, right?"_

"_I know." My voice had a bitter edge that had every intention of ending the conversation, but he had other ideas._

"_Aren't you going to be late for school?"_

"_I'm not going. I have a…headache."_

_He opened his mouth to protest then, but I shot him a look that begged him to let it slide. I was pulling all my cards, using his memory of my general tract record of being a good kid to my advantage. He nodded tiredly. Grabbing his jacket off the hook in the corner, he looked back at me one last time._

"_Time heals everything kiddo. Even things like this."_

I hadn't had time to process the most sentimental thing I'd ever heard my father say before he was gone. I knew I ought to appreciate the thought, but it was a lie. Time wouldn't heal this. Nothing would heal this.

The trees and the rain whipped by my window as my truck nudged uncharacteristically over the speed limit. These back roads were empty and for that I was grateful.

For hours I drove like this. My head was empty as I traced the roads around Forks and La Push. I was numb. And that would be the best I would ever get.

Finally I found myself on my own street with a nearly empty gas tank. Pulling into my spot in the driveway, I pulled the keys from the ignition and watched the rain as it began to pound around the truck. For a long time I stayed there as well, telling myself I didn't want to get out into the rain.

The world outside my windows began to blur into messy greens and browns as the rain came down harder.

OXO

I jumped awake to someone rapping on my window. For a moment I struggled to get my bearings as my mind wandered its way back from sleep. I yanked myself away from where I'd been leaning on the door just as Charlie opened it, an umbrella in hand.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked as I stepped from the car.

"I was driving around and I guess I just zoned out." I felt some small internal cringe as my lie from this morning slipped my mind, but my whisper was lost in the drumming of the rain on the umbrella and all around us. Apparently Charlie wasn't seeking an actual answer as he said nothing, just putting a hand on my back and guiding me towards the house.

The contact felt strange, even though my jacket and shirt was between his hand and my skin. I wondered absently what look was on my face to make him feel as if he needed to guide me like a child. But I let him, partly because I thought he might want to take care of me in some way and partly because I didn't have it in me to care.

I found myself standing in the kitchen doorway, across from Charlie as he hung up his coat, with no recollection of the walk there. He ran a hand through his hair as he turned to face me and suddenly I realized how much gray there was in his brown hair. Charlie was growing old.

The thought made my stomach sink. He had been here all alone before I had moved back. I tried to picture him without me, here in this house, but I couldn't.

"I guess I'll ah, order a pizza." I saw him shuffling uncomfortably in the same moment that I realized I had been staring at him for too long. Some far corner of my mind reminded me that it was now my turn to say something.

"I can make dinner." I didn't want to; not really. I didn't know what I wanted. But I should. I should.

"You don't have to do that, I know you're probably…tired," his voice trailed off as he failed to find the right word for what I was in that moment. Aching? Sad? Broken? None of those quite fit, though in some way they were all true.

Empty. Empty was the word for it.

I never responded; I simply wandered over to the freezer and pulled out frozen garlic bread. Spaghetti would have to do tonight. I felt a vague satisfaction when Charlie made his way upstairs to change.

I felt as if I was under water as I went through the motions of preparing dinner. It seemed to take me longer than usual; it was nearly dark when we sat down across from one another and ate in a comfortable silence.

I took my time washing the dishes and found myself lingering in the kitchen as my father sat down to watch TV. I flipped through the first few pages of the newspaper and wiped down the counter as I tried to avoid the inevitable. I was functioning well enough now, but I knew what would happen once I was alone in the dark. I wasn't strong enough to fight off what lingered there.

Eventually I dragged myself up the narrow staircase, darting in and out of my room to grab the clothes I wore to bed from the place I had tossed them in my desperation to get out of the house this morning. I didn't waste time staring at myself in the mirror this time; instead I simply got in before the water had even warmed up. I knew what I would find in the mirror, and it wasn't much.

Half an hour later I lay in the dark, feeling silent tears slip down the sides of my face. What was I going to do? My life was going to go on, regardless of how much my heart ached, or regardless of whether or not I still had one at all. My chest still felt empty and the space raw, the way it always does after emotion has scrubbed it down to the quick.

My thoughts wandered their way to my father, who was likely snoring down the hall. I remembered the gray in his still-thick hair, and I felt selfish. I was always brushing him aside for things I thought were more important. Well for one thing. A person.

Edward.

His name made me feel like I had been punched in the chest. I curled into a ball as if I could hold all the little pieces of myself together. And then I felt something entirely unexpected.

Anger.

I was angry with myself, but far more surprisingly, him. I had never been angry with him, not once.

"You don't get to just say those things and be those things and then leave," I whispered to the darkness, as if he could hear me. As if it mattered.

I was angry at him for leaving, for coming around in the first place, and, strangely enough, for making me not care about my father. For making me not care about anything but him.

I knew that wasn't his fault; it was mine. But it felt good to pin it on him, to be angry at him instead of all the other emotions he stirred up in me.

Even still, I missed him so much my bones ached. I had grown so used to sharing every part of my life with him. Time spent with him was the only time I could recall; the rest of it was just watching the clock until I could see him again.

_At least,_ some bizarrely optimistic part of my brain commented, _this isn't waiting. The waiting was tedious, exhausting. At least now you know there's nothing to wait for._

Nothing to wait for. That was true; there was no going back. It felt strange to admit this to myself, like the hopeful part of me had sighed and laid down to rest. I felt peace; it was a sad, almost reluctant peace, but it was peace nonetheless. There was nothing to wait for. And perhaps he had been right on at least one account during his eloquent little break-up speech: my mind is something of a sieve. If I could be strong enough to wait this out, maybe eventually I could feel something other than this ache. Maybe.

I shuddered at the alternative; a life of quiet hope, waiting for the return that was never going to come. A life of pain and sadness and letting something that happened when I was just 17 control the rest of my life. Perhaps he had forever to live and heal, but I didn't.

I didn't.

I wasn't exactly sure what realizations I had come to, or what I was supposed to do with them. It could wait for the sun to come up; I was too worn out to think of consequences and revelations and the future.

My mind once again found my father; if I strained, I could hear the faint sound of his snores. I thought of how I had been taking care of him in the most literal sense, of how I made dinner for him and cleaned his house. I thought of how even though he had been right in front of me, I had hardly paid attention to him. I thought of how happy he had been when I first moved here. I thought of the worry in his eyes last night. I thought of the sadness in his eyes each time he saw my mother when I was a child visiting for the summer, and of how it faded but never went away.

Maybe mine would never go away, either. But maybe it could fade.

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! **


	3. Away

My tray hit the lunch table and it sounded like thunder.

The rattle of the nearly empty plastic sheet hitting the surface beneath it silenced the group of people I might have once called my friends, each one of them turning to look at me with varying degrees of surprise.

I sank into the seat next to Mike, wishing the last available seat had been next to Angela instead. But she watched me from across the table and under Eric's arm, her kind gaze giving me some hope that at least she might forgive me for my abandonment of them.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" I asked with my eyes trained on the table, despite the fact that I had already claimed the seat. Before anyone could even open their mouths, a voice came from behind me.

"That's actually my seat," said Jessica, making me cringe. Her voice was not unkind, albeit a little cold, but her words served as a painful reminder. There wasn't even a seat for me left at the table anymore. I should have sat at my old table, even though it was now…empty.

I felt the too-familiar flush spread across my face, shame and embarrassment rushing over me. It was stupid to think I could return after so many months, to a group of friends I had hardly been here long enough to get to know, no less. My rushed hands fumbled with the tray as I struggled to shove the seat back and escape. Maybe I would eat lunch in the bathroom, or the library. I cringed at the idea of it; I had never been outgoing, but I had never had to eat lunch alone.

"I'll grab you another chair," said Angela, her eyes catching mine with a slight smile. _Thank God for Angela Weber,_ I thought in relief. Before I knew it I was sitting in a newly added chair next to her, the conversation at the table making an awkward attempt at restarting.

Pain and a longing for the ease of my old group gnawed at my insides. _They aren't coming back,_ I reminded myself, as I had at least two dozen times since I woke up this morning. At first it had seemed like a bad dream and I found myself reaching for the place where _he_ had so often stayed through the night. But his carefully tempered weight and perfectly distanced chill were gone. And it would stay that way.

Tears began to prick at my eyes at the thought and I did my best to blink them away. The pain in my chest took my breath away. For a moment I considered making a charge for the bathroom or even my car, but what would I do then? Sit alone again? If the ache still found me here, amongst all these people, it would do much worse if I was alone.

So I stayed. I picked apart my granola bar and took little sips of my juice and did my best to listen to the banter of the people around me. As I tried to keep my mind focused on their conversation about their upcoming beach excursion—one I was certain did not include me, unless Angela decided to take pity on me again—I found that I was jealous of them. They didn't feel the way I felt, and I reckoned that they never had. They probably never would. They never experienced this crushing emptiness, this brokenness. I couldn't even begin to ponder whether or not everything beforehand had been worth this.

_Of course it had been worth it, _came the answering voice in my mind. _Perfection incarnate took notice of you. He even cared for you. You'll never be that happy again._

It was true. I had been lucky that he had even known I existed, never mind taken any real interest in me. But it had been fleeting, and now I was here alone.

Despite the envy I now felt towards these people, I let them carry me through lunch. I even found myself surprised when they pushed away from the table as the bell rang, wondering where the time had escaped to. But I was even more surprised when I found Angela next to me on my way to my locker.

"Are you coming to the beach?" she asked, even managing to sound hopeful.

I smirked at her. "I didn't think I was welcome just yet."

She nudged my shoulder with her own. "Of course you are! You're still our friend." I managed a small smile to match her genuine one, and I could feel a glimmer of warmth in my chest. It was just as quickly replaced by a longing for Alice. She too had become a fixture in my life, a close friend and the only one who could know _all _my secrets. I swallowed the thought, pushing it to the back of my mind.

"Maybe. I'll have to see," I hedged as I arrived at my locker. She nodded and lingered a moment. I steeled myself for what I knew was about to come.

"So I heard the Cullens moved…"

I clenched my teeth as I spun the dial on the lock. My chest ached at the mere sound of their name.

"And a little bit about what happened. I just wanted to say," I brought my eyes to meet hers as she went on, "that I'm here for you. I don't know what you're going through, but if you want to talk I can always lend an ear."

I gave her a small smile and nodded. It was a kind thought, made even nicer by the recognition that she didn't know what I was dealing with. I decided that Angela Weber was a gem.

But I soon found myself stiffening as the weight of her words hit me. _ A little bit about what happened._ How many people knew about my foray into the woods?

I sighed. Everyone knew. This was Forks, after all. It would have taken just one worried call from my father to Angela or Jessica's home, or, even more likely, to the Newton's store. The shock and awkwardness of lunch suddenly made sense; they didn't know how to react. In their eyes I had gone off the deep end.

Maybe I had.

She didn't linger any longer, just granting me her same soft, almost knowing smile and going on her way. I let out a breath into the relatively peaceful little space of my locker. But then within moments, despite the kids pushing by me, I felt far away again. I needed to keep moving.

I hustled to trig with my textbook tucked against my chest, slowing only when I came up to the room and remembered that this was the class where I sat next to Jessica. I hesitated outside the door for a moment. Even though Angela was prepared to welcome me back with open arms, I doubted the rest of the group felt the same way. I had wandered away from them completely, and now I was back at their mercy. No matter how much I pretended to be above the social games of high school, the subtle rejection and their shock at my reappearance still brought out feelings I had hoped I had left in middle school.

But the warning bell came up too quickly, and I slid gracelessly into my seat. I flashed a forced smile at Jessica, and her return was hesitant. I could feel her looking at me out of the corner of my eye, as if she was surprised that I was really there. I supposed it made sense. I looked okay, I guessed. For whatever my immediate appearance was worth, I was sure didn't look like I was unraveling.

The class passed slowly as I struggled to focus on the lesson and pondered Angela's offer. Keeping up my appearance was exhausting, but being alone was a far more daunting prospect. I would go. I would do my best to appear together. I would try to rebuild some burned bridges.

But it was only Wednesday. There were two long days stretched out before the First Beach trip, two long days I had to fill. School only took up so much time, after all. Panic rose up in my chest at the thought.

I stifled it and focused my attention on my handwriting where it stretched across the page. Notes on trigonometric functions and graphs were easier to deal with than my swirling emotions.

The final bell rang, leaving me to bustle through the mist towards my truck, ignoring the parking spaces that, even several days later, remained empty. I wondered how long it would take for other kids to work up the courage and for word to spread far enough for them to be taken.

A glance at my truck from across the lot took my breath away. In my mind, I could see him standing there, leaning against my orange monster in that perfectly effortless way he always had, clear as day. I blinked and he was gone again. I wrapped my arms around myself as my chest threatened to burst open.

Just as my quickened pace threatened to break into a run as I came towards the driver's side, a voice came from behind me.

"Are you coming in today Bella?"

I jumped at least a foot at the sound of Mike Newton's voice, whacking my hand on the mirror as I spun around. Blush flew to my cheeks and I pulled my lip between my teeth, ignoring his apologetic grin.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked, though in all reality the fact that I had work today had completely escaped me. It came as a massive relief. I would have something to fill the afternoon at least.

"Well you didn't show up Monday…" he trailed off, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck.

I clenched my eyes shut. I had picked up the evening shift Monday, intending to go to work after seeing _him _after school. But instead the day had become a blurry mess of pain and heartbreak and forest floors that I didn't want to remember.

"I am so sorry Mike, I hope that—,"

"Don't worry about it! Just wanted to make sure you were coming today," he said, his hands splayed out in front of him as if he was afraid that I was going to burst into tears. Even if that wasn't too far from the truth, it confirmed my suspicions. Everyone knew. It explained all the sideways glances I had received in every class before lunch, and the one after as well.

I sighed. It would pass; even in little Forks High, 'big' news lasted only a few days before the next drama pushed it aside. I wished this story would only last that long for me as well.

"I'll be there," I promised, and he smiled his innocent puppy dog smile at me.

"And Saturday too?" His eyebrows shot up in petition, and I nodded, relieved. Maybe it wasn't just Angela who was willing to welcome me back.

As he walked off towards his car and I clambered up into my truck, I hoped that he wasn't _too_ eager to welcome me back. I had thought he and Jessica had been dating, but looking back to my foggy memories of lunch, it didn't seem like that was happening any longer. I shook away the thought; I didn't need that. Not right now. Probably not ever.

…

After some awkward apologies and an even more awkward hug from Mrs. Newton, I was mindlessly unpacking boxes of little packages dehydrated food and stacking them on the display in the far side of the store.

The hours passed quickly and Mike made me jump once again when he told me he was going to close for the night. This time my head came into contact with a shelf as I stretched for the can that had rolled to the back, and I stood rubbing the bump that was sure to form there.

Darkness had begun to fall between the storefront and my truck, but the rain had since cleared to reveal the last bit of an uncharacteristic sunset. I leaned against the driver's side door and watched the sun slip behind the trees, waving vaguely at Mike as he got into his car and drove off.

I wondered what I was going to do. There was so much time to fill until I even had a chance of easing my emptiness. There was the rest of my senior year and whatever lay beyond it, a time I had failed to plan since I thought I had eternity to chase my dreams. Or, more accurately, to chase him across the world.

The ache worsened at the thought. My forever was gone, just as much as he and Alice and the rest of them were. They were gone.

Permanently.

I sucked in a deep breath even though my lungs felt shallow. My world felt like it had been blown to pieces, and now I was standing amongst the ruins, expected to put them back together and keep going with my life at the same time. I would have to find a way.

But I was so, so tired. Just getting through the day was a monumental effort. If this would ever begin to get easier, I hoped it would come soon.

The longer I stood there, the larger the hole in my chest seemed to get. It all seemed so hopeless; what was there to chase once you had tasted the highest of highs? Once you had already known the best? I wrapped my arms around my chest and tried to hold it all together.

The sun dropped completely behind the trees and at last I turned away from the sadness and got into my truck.

**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	4. Hollow

**Making my return to Fanfiction with this chapter. I'm a bit rusty and it's mostly filler, but you have to start somewhere, right?**

Over the next two days, I picked up every possible hour at work—hours Mike was happy to give me, since he had put off some term paper that was due Monday. He spent several minutes explaining how his mother wouldn't let him go on Saturday if the paper wasn't done, and I tried my best to listen to him.

But the days skittered by, blurry and exhausting. I collapsed into bed each night, curling into a ball, as if that would keep the dreams away. I struggled to remember much of anything, even immediately after it had happened. I felt far away.

I tried to look forward to the beach trip, mostly because I had promised myself to try. I promised myself that I would try to make something of whatever was left of my life. But it wasn't much.

When the morning reached in to pull me from my nightmare on Saturday, I decided I wasn't going to go. I couldn't go. I couldn't do anything. He had cut deep and I couldn't staunch the bleeding fast enough for time to stitch it up.

So I stayed in bed.

That lasted all of ten minutes before Charlie was knocking on my door, breaking the spell of my absent stare. He cracked the door open, calling through it.

"Aren't you going out today? Angela will be here in a few minutes."

Of course. I couldn't remember when or even if I had told Charlie about my plans, but I couldn't back out now. I couldn't call Angela with some fake excuse about being sick or maybe just too tired to drag my sadness out of bed with me. Well, I could. But I shouldn't. I shouldn't.

I promised myself that I would try.

So I mumbled something about being out in a minute and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I shuffled over to the window, yanking the shade up to reveal an almost clear day. Well, clear for Forks anyways. There were clouds in the sky and the light was still gray, but there were large expanses of blue as well. I couldn't remember the last time I had been out in the sun. I needed to go today.

I found myself in Angela's little car, with the silence stretched between us tempered by the soft guitar on the radio and her lack of need for conversation. I watched the trees whip by and felt surprisingly comfortable. I had forgotten just how much I liked Angela.

We met up with the others in the parking lot before heading down to the beach. I hovered around as they set up camp, trying to help and stay out of the way at the same time. When the rest ran off to the water to surf—Angela to take pictures and wade in if she could stand the cold—I plopped myself on a chair. Curling up under a blanket, I looked down the beach and was struck with a sense of deja vu so strong I felt sick. I halfway expected Jacob and his friends to show up, even though this day was sunnier than the one in my memory. In so many ways, I was back to square one. Oh my God, I missed him.

_I miss him I miss him I miss him I miss him._

The pain of the thoughts that I tried so hard to avoid hit me like a punch to the chest. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and tried to hold it all together. With a shaking breath and shaking hands, I got up. If I couldn't shake away the thoughts, maybe I could walk away from them.

I left the blanket behind and came to stand beside Angela and Jess, shuddering when the water washed over my feet. Angela flashed a smile at me before bringing her camera up to her face and snapping another photo while Jess glanced at me as she tied her hair up.

Eric dragged himself and his board through the waves towards us, smiling hesitantly at me and handing his board to Jess. I couldn't even remember if who was sharing with who, but it hardly mattered. He and Angela shared a look that I pretended not to see.

"Bella, why don't you try surfing?" asked Eric. I let out a reflexive sound that I hoped would pass for a laugh.

"Me? I would probably drown, or break the board, or something," I hedged.

"Oh come on, how bad could you be?"

"You don't know how to swim?" asked Angela, sounding surprised.

"I do," I said, pausing as I scrambled for an excuse, "but I don't even have a wet suit."

"Well how about next weekend? Whaddya say Bella?"

I sighed. I didn't need to get embarrassed; it was a miracle I was here in the first place.

"I don't think so Eric," I said, trying to make it sound regretful instead of flat. The look on his face told me I didn't succeed. He shrugged and pushed his wet hair out of his face, turning to grin at his girlfriend. I wondered how long they had been dating for, and kicked myself for not being able to remember. I had gone so far away from them. At least they seemed happy.

I turned away from where I had begun to stare in my reverie, the hole in my chest aching even harder. She was holding his hand in a shy but not uncomfortable show of affection. It seemed so natural, so easy, despite the fact that they were awkward teenagers and he was in a wet suit fresh out of the ocean. If it was hard to see that I had walked away from my friends, it was even harder to see what I had now lost.

I mumbled something about wanting to go for a walk, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jacket as I went. I didn't know how they were still surfing and standing in the water this late in the year. I felt cold to the bone.

I focused my eyes on the rocks below my feet, walking faster and faster as I tried to dull the pain. Tears were pricking at my eyes but I couldn't be sure if they were the first I'd shed since _then_ or a byproduct of the wind that seemed to be picking up. It didn't matter. I blinked them back just the same.

When my legs began to tire I half-leaned, half-sat on a rock that faced the waves. I looked all the way down the beach and could just see my friends where I had left them, past a few locals who had made their way down to the beach as well. Mike and Jess were both rushing towards the rocks and sand on a wave. Lauren was crouched on her board farther out, hovering over the tumbling water. Angela was walking down from where they had set up their things. Eric was calling to her, waving his hands.

So I sat there and watched the wind pull through my hair and the sun shine it into something a little more than its usual flat brown, and I thought. I thought of my mother and her unanswered emails, of the friends I had left, of my father heading out to fish with old buddies. I thought of sunshine and First Beach and surfing and did my absolute best to keep my thoughts to these things. Each of them was painful, but relatively safe.

There was movement far to my left, catching my gaze and tugging it away from the waves. I squinted for a moment as my brain struggled to catch back up. There were guys, Quileute guys by the look of their skin, standing at the top of the cliffs. I watched one back up several steps before catapulting himself forward off the edge. Sprawled out in the air, his body looked enormous as he flipped over to dive seamlessly into the water. I paused for a moment, waiting to see him come up. There was just a vague tug of worry in my chest among the hollowness, covering up a strange sense of familiarity.

A long moment passed before I could just make out the splashing of the man swimming back towards shore. I squinted as he came closer, the sense of familiarity rising. Then the wind carried my name on it and my attention found Angela, waving me back down the beach.

Before I headed her way, I looked back, but the figure in the waves was gone.

OXO

By the end of the long afternoon, I felt just a little more like part of the group. Jessica and Lauren were still unsure of me—they all were, to some degree, given the frequent sideways glances—but the rest of them mostly didn't seem to mind me. I didn't say much. My mouth felt dry and my head empty. There wasn't much to say; no one brought up Monday or anything else to me. I stayed on the edge of the group, mostly listening. All in all, it wasn't much of a change from how I'd been when we'd first met.

I let the afternoon pass around me and before I know it, Angela's car was pulling up to the curb in front of Charlie's house. _My _house. Our house. I wondered for a brief moment where along the way I lost such respect for my father that I began to mentally refer to him by his first name.

Angela pulled me into a hug, squeezing me just tight enough to teeter on the edge of symbolic. _I'm happy your back,_ I imagined she was trying to say. _I'm here for you._ If it was anyone but Angela, I'd would've told myself I was reading too much into things.

It was a little bit awkward but nice to feel her arms holding me together for a long moment. She let go and gave me one of her signature smiles, like she knew. Or understood. While I knew there was no way she could know or understand, it was nice. It was nice to pretend.

I leaned back into the car as I got out, suddenly struck with an idea. I liked Angela. She didn't seem to mind me. I should ask her to hang out, or something. Yes, that makes sense. We could hang out.

"Do you want to like, hang out, this week?" As soon as the words were out, I wanted to recall them. I felt silly, but Angela's smile just grew wider.

"Of course! I'll text you!"

A smile faltered across my face as I closed the door and stepped back. Several long seconds passed while I waited for her to drive away. _Oh._ She was waiting for me to get into the house. What an Angela thing to do.

I turned to the house to see the light from the living room pouring onto the lawn into the newly settling darkness. The glow of the TV flashed against the wall, and Charlie's—my _dad's_—cruiser sat in the driveway. My brain felt slow and foggy as I walked towards the front door. Maybe it was best this way, with no energy or ability to think.

My dad's voice was louder than the TV and had an angry edge to it. Someone else was here, someone without a car. Billy was here.

"Well that's all well and good Billy, but you don't have to watch the look on that girl's face every day, it's—it's _hollow—"_

His voice was cut off by the sound of the door shutting behind me. I poked my head into the living room to see Billy turn his wheelchair around to grant me one of his famously blank smiles. My father stood up to wipe his hands on his pants, giving me a sheepish smile through the fading red of his face. _Oh._ They were talking about me.

"Hi there Bella," said Billy, drawing my attention back to him. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks. And you?" What other answer could I have?

"Just fine, Bella, just fine."

My father cleared his throat and told me there was pizza on the kitchen table, if I was interested. I took that as my exit from the stalled situation in the living room.

I picked at the pizza and strained to listen, but they didn't say anything more about me. Hollow, huh? I thought I was doing better than that, at least on the outside. There was no doubt I was hollow on the inside. But if he knew, well, I'd have to do better. _So tired,_ piped up a part of my brain. _Too tired._

I made my way back out to the living room to sit on the couch, putting off going upstairs to solitude. Billy watched me out of the corner of his eye and I squirmed under his gaze. I kept my eyes fixed on the TV.

"What would you say to coming on down to my place with Charlie tomorrow, Bella?" Billy's voice startled me, breaking my blank stare down with the baseball game.

"I do have some homework," I hedged. Billy always seemed to know too much. After all, he sent his son to my prom last year—I cut off the thought as the ache choked my chest. Prom. It seemed to be an eternity ago. I swallowed against the lump that clawed its way up into my throat.

One glance at my father showed the hope etched all over his face. He wanted me to come. I promised myself I would try. I promised myself I would do better.

"So I'll have to bring it with me," I finished the thought that had hung in the air and was gifted an open smile from my father and a flash of approval in Billy's eyes.

This was good. Something to fill my empty Sunday. Something to help the time pass.

**Review if you like. **


	5. Small Steps

The engine of the cruiser stuttered to a stop in front of the little red house I had been to many times before, but never in recent memory. It looked the same as it ever did in my childhood eyes: wide, slanting porch, slightly crooked shutters, slowly peeling paint. It felt like a home. A tired home, but a home nonetheless.

I balanced the lasagna I had gone through the motions making on my lap as I struggled to yank my backpack out of where it had gotten caught on _something_ in the foot well. My father reached down to take the tray instead, which I was grateful for. Knowing me, it would've ended up face down on the Black's front porch.

The afternoon passed around me, a pleasant enough time of eating lasagna while plugging through some AP U.S. History homework and listening alternately to Jacob's eager conversation and to Billy and Charlie teasing each other like the old friends they were. Jacob talked me into coming out to his makeshift garage to see the car he was rebuilding, and it was there that I found myself perched on an overturned barrel as he talked about the teenage escapades of his two best friends. I was struck again by the same sentiment as when I first sat with my friends from school: he would never know the pain I knew. He would be free to walk through his high school life and beyond without a hole in his chest. He would be able to pay attention to people and hold a conversation and his father would probably never tell his best friend how hollow he looks.

I envied him. Envied him so much that it bubbled deep inside me, an ugly feeling in my stomach. Above that deep ugly feeling, though, I knew that Jacob didn't deserve that kind of heartbreak. Lighthearted and kind, Jacob should be happy.

Even through all of this, he was a welcome distraction. I had never been anything close to an extrovert, but it seemed like I was beginning to spend an awful lot amount of time around other people. I had never felt so isolated before, given the way the secret consumed me and yet could never, ever be shared. I hadn't felt this isolated even when I was enrolling in yet another new school or even when I was preparing to face my certain death in James.

James.

The name seemed to unlock a door I had tried and failed to seal; with it everything came rushing back in. James and the hospital and everything that came after: the most wonderful summer on memory, the most wonderful time I could ever hope to experience. It was all gone. My family and my forever were gone. I hadn't been good enough. I'd never be good enough.

My chest caved in and I clawed my arms around myself to hold the fractured pieces together.

Suddenly there weren't just my arms, but there were dark ones too, tugging them away from my body. They were insistent, tugging earnestly at my wrists, but gentle. Always gentle.

His voice filtered back in next, the worried garble of a not-quite-yet young man.

"Bella! Bella! Hey, hey, I'm right here. C'mon, it's okay," he said over and over, pulling me towards him. Jacob. This was Jacob.

Jacob who had awkwardly wrapped his arms around me where I lay in a ball on the broken cement floor of his garage, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. Where I had fallen to pieces. I tried to rustle up some embarrassment, but there was nothing. Nothing but the charred hollow of my chest. I stayed there for several long moments while my mind churned out a blank dial tone.

"Hey there, you okay?" he posed the question full of hope, a slight sense of discomfort with the situation, and genuine concern. I still didn't know how to answer it—_yeah, sorry, just had a moment_?

I swallowed, unable to meet his eyes. I knew what they would show: pity. Worry. Maybe a healthy dose of the "she's crazy" half my classmates have been looking at me with for the past week. None were things I wanted to see, _especially _pity. I didn't want Jacob to look at me that way. I didn't want anyone to look at me that way.

"It's no big," he shrugged kindly, getting to his feet and dusting himself off before offering a hand to help me up. I resettled myself on my bucket and watched my hands shake in my lap. After a moment, I shoved them under the sides of my legs, hating the way they trembled. Jacob made a brave attempt at restarting his explanation of the work left to be done on his rusted red car, for which I was grateful. We tried to return things to the way they were before. But some things can't be set right again. Perhaps I knew that better than anyone.

My name was being called from the house, and for a split second I wondered if my father knew what had happened. A quick glance outside told me instead that it was late; the sun had dropped behind the trees and the garage was now lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I couldn't remember when all of that had happened. Did I really spend that much time on the ground? It was impossible to tell. I put it out of my mind.

"Coming!" I called back. I would have to go face him regardless.

When I turned back to Jacob, he was pouring water from a water bottle onto a clean cloth he had conjured from somewhere.

"It might help make your eyes look less puffy," he said, squinting apologetically. I nodded loosely, feeling like my head was only vaguely attached to my body. I held the cold wet fabric under my eyes for a minute, hoping Jacob would be right. He pretended to be busy putting tools away, giving me the space to get it together. Jacob was kind indeed.

I returned the cloth to him with what I hoped would amount to a smile before fluffing my hair to fall over part of my face. I felt more pathetic with each passing moment as something resembling that embarrassment I was looking for before rose up to flush my cheeks red.

"That's much better," Jacob claimed with a firm nod, "and honestly, don't worry about it. It happens." He shrugged as if all his friends collapse to the ground shaking in his garage. I decided I liked Jacob a lot, even if this made him a liar. Lying to be kind doesn't count, right?

We walked back up to the house through the drizzle and everyone said their goodbyes. Billy watched me out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flicking back and forth between his son and me. I didn't know what it looked like to him, but I hoped he wouldn't spend too much time dwelling on it. The old man didn't need to come up with any ideas.

As Charlie—_my father—_stepped out into the increasing rain and Billy wheeled himself towards the kitchen, Jacob cleared his throat. I stopped inside the doorway, hoping this wasn't going to ruin everything. _Please Jacob, _I pleaded, _don't say anything like _that.

"You should come back around sometime, maybe even without Charlie," he offered with a small hopeful smile. There was the slightest bit of blush under his dark skin, but the offer was genuine. It was this that baffled me: why on earth would Jacob want to hang out with me again after _that?_

When I didn't respond, he started up again. "And if you ever want to like, talk…"

I nodded at him, trying to smile for his sake. "Sure, Jacob." His face broke out into a sunny grin as he stepped back from the door and I headed out into the rain. It was picking up quickly as I jogged towards the cruiser with my backpack slung over my shoulder, skidding through the mud to the door in typical fashion. The heat was blasting when I got in and I was grateful since the rain had managed to soak my flannel in the short trip from the porch.

It was thundering around the car as we drove towards Forks, but despite this and the cold, I was suddenly exhausted. There was no more in me. I dropped off to sleep against the car door.

OXO

By the time the bell rang on Tuesday, signaling the end of the school day, I had armed myself with at least a dozen excuses to get out of driving over to Angela's house on the other side of Forks. I was so tired that my already messy handwriting had become unreadable by the end of third period calculus and I had quit taking notes all together by history. The past week's string of sleepless nights was really beginning to take its toll on me. I just wanted to drag myself home and be alone for the afternoon. The last thing I wanted to do was camp out at Angela's kitchen table to study for our upcoming calculus test.

We were in different sections—unlike Jessica and I—but the material was the same, and Angela had somehow known to leave Jess out of this study session. I hardly had the energy to keep up with a single person, never mind the additional chatty energy of Jess. She had winked and said we'd keep it on the "down low" so she wouldn't feel left out, noting that Jess was so good at calculus anyways that we'd probably just slow her down. Thank God for Angela Weber.

I sifted through the stack of notes for this section that I had removed from my binder and was unpleasantly surprised. They were spotty at best—the theory and methods were there, but I had failed to copy down any practice problems at all. I guessed I'd assumed I'd have _help_ in studying, in the form of the endlessly patient prodding and explanations of someone who'd had a century to learn this stuff.

The enormous lump in my throat stopped that train of the thought. I struggled to swallow against it and blink back the tears that had somehow sprung to my eyes, blaming my ricocheting emotions—and my apparent inability to control them—on my exhaustion. I took a deep breath in the small solace of my locker, trying to wipe away those thoughts, any thoughts.

Angela appeared beside me, worry written in the pucker between her eyebrows. My mind scrambled for an excuse and grabbed onto one: I had been called into work. But that wouldn't work—what if she mentioned to Mike and he gave me away—

"You look like you could use a coffee…or three," Angela said as she gave me an easy smile, "so we'll have to stop on our way. I think I've figured out all the basic integrals, but there's some I just can't seem to work out."

I nodded as if I was on the same page while I collected my things and closed my locker. It was true that I didn't have century-old help anymore, but I did have Angela. And judging by the state of my notes, I was going to need her. College application deadlines were coming up; I needed to have a future, a life. I needed to plan these things from scratch. And that started with an A on my calculus test.

"I think we should definitely do u-substitution problems because I think there's going to be a lot of those on the test," explained Angela while my mind scrambled to recall _anything_ on u-substitution.

Maybe a B would cut it for this one.

**Review if you like.**


End file.
